we could be us
by Tessie13
Summary: There's kind of this girl who was signed to Starr and was pretty unknown before. And, um, she is kind of perfect. — AustinAlly. AU. Austin doesn't befriend the famous Ally Dawson, oh no, he falls for the exotically chaotic and beautiful Ally Dawson that the rest of the world doesn't even know about.


**Disclaimer: **my life savings don't even come close to the price Disney has on this flawless show.

**Summary: **There's kind of this girl who was signed to Starr and was pretty unknown before. And, um, she is kind of perfect. _— _AustinAlly. AU.

**Inspirtation: **I honestly have no idea how this came to be. I guess I'm kind of obsessed with the concept of Ally being famous and Austin being caught on the sidelines. Its sloppy and has no flow, but I like how it was written and love the whole theme of it in general.

**A/N: **This has been a project that has been caught in a folder for about two months now and I'm finally glad to see that I have created a somewhat decent ending. It has been poorly edited and I appologize for any mistakes you see in advance. I love you.

**Dedication: **this one goes out to one of my personal favorites, **WannabeWriter630 **because she is currently writing one of the best stories in this archive (The Challenge, but everything else she writes is the work of a godess as well) that you need to go read because it is Austin and Ally fanfiction crack. You will become addicted, I swear to you. But other than being talented shes a total sweetie and I completely adore her :)

* * *

"I guess it's safe to say, I might have fallen in love with you. It also might be right, maybe, if I said I'm really afraid of only being able to miss you." Mixes of chocolate and gold are flaking together in scared eyes, fingers are intertwining and the cliché has its hands circled around her neck, laughing and spitting right in her face.

"You realize you're saying this at literally the worst moment, like, ever, right?" She answers and she tries to conceal the crying evident in her voice with a guffaw.

His chuckle comes out distorted, head tucking itself down to his chin and his vision meets the grass beneath them, "I know."

They simultaneously pull each other closer and all space between them is closed with lips touching tentatively. It's a birth of so many new feelings that aren't exactly common for either one of them, but this is a dangerous territory to be treading through, especially considering the timing. Clocks tick along in the background and even the stars don't hide the morning sun that blooms, fresh and lovely through crusted, closed eyes.

He whispers her name before leaving her a kiss to wake up to, a rainbow dancing within the dew drops on the blades of grass; summer never felt so alive, but somehow he's dead.

"Cassidy."

* * *

His backpack is still slumped around his shoulders when he reaches his new home room, hair a disheveled mess and he's almost certain he actually managed to put his shoes on the wrong feet. A sigh of relief escapes his tightly drawn lips, ridiculing snickers chorusing from the furthest corner in the room. He slips down into one of the two available seats—leaving one right between himself and Dallas, and he takes a moment to cringe on behalf of the unlucky soul who will have to sit directly next to the brown haired devil—while questions flood into his ears. A textbook is slapped down in front of him, the assignment listed in an untidy scrawl on the chalkboard. Ear buds fly in as soon as the teacher turns his back, leaving one out just to be safe and hear any other impending directions. He sends her a quick text and plays the kind of music he knows she hates just to make sure he won't have any other teasing thoughts of her tamed sunset locks, and pooling orbs that counter the moon.

The door opens and abruptly severs the silence with a clean cleave, greetings being delivered to whatever form finally arrived; he takes no second to peel his eyes off of the review chapter of last year's Physics class, but it's quite obvious it's a girl that must be somewhat popular. Her shoes emit off broad clicks against the tiled floor, until she's standing in front of him, picking his iPhone up off of his desk in a fluent motion before he has a moment to object.

"Hey, now," he says playfully as he takes a look up at whom had entered the class a solid ten minutes late. He unthinkingly gulps, his stomach becoming nervous as he sees Ally Dawson hunched over his phone, appearing to be scrolling through his music. A smirk starts to snake over her lips, a new song beginning as her sparking eyes tell him that she's content. Tendrils of her hair fall flatly in front of her face, in ways that he would describe as mysterious: and that quickly becomes his new favorite word for her, mysterious.

It's outlandish that she would chose the first day of school—a school in Miami, mind you—to wear a scarf and sweater over patterned leggings, hair tied up without effort on her head and thickly framed glasses nearly falling completely off her slanting nose. How is it, that all of her life in the back of the classroom, refusing to answer any of the notes passed to her in fruitless attempts of conversation, she managed to write songs. Songs that not only were catchy and familiarly associated with the replay button, songs that moved everyone to a new state of mind, transported them clear off the face of the earth into another dimension, another era where peace was actually common and what you wanted was the only way. Signed to Starr records back in June, rumors swiveled through the muggy summer air of how she had been placed as a top producer, right next to the big man Jimmy himself, recording her own original songs with all the massive names that grace magazines. Pictures of her at parties in the glamorous California, popping up all over everyone's social networking feeds; her living a life that everyone dreamed of, how ironic coming from the girl that actually raised her hand in hopes of being called on in chemistry class.

Here now, with new whispers passing along the grapevine of her very own album that has a high possibility of being accompanied with a tour, she sits down next to him while responding to Dallas' flirty half hello with a wave of her own. As if it is no big deal to be in a less than known high school, with the same pointless drama, same pointless classes, same early morning hours; little excitement, punching in and out of every day barely on time but then again not caring enough to try harder. As if she herself no big deal, no, it's not as if she's created songs that have reached the top charts and stayed there for weeks on end with no more than a pen and paper. Oh, what he would do to sit down with Ally Dawson and pick her brain about her music.

She leaves the home room early as well, and he noted somewhere in his mind that she was never even gifted with a textbook. She fleetingly shows the teacher some sort of paper, what he assumes is a pass, and skids out the door without any hesitation or glance back at her peers. He has a strong urge to follow her, escape everyone else, but then he realizes how everyone's eyes were training over the door with the same form of desperation. Tapping a pencil idly, it occurs to him that she will be getting this a lot, from now till forever: the fake friendships, the pleading for attention, the pounding demands of so much as a simple afternoon with herself—and he takes no second to hesitate himself, thinking over a vow to not grovel over Ally Dawson any more than he has in years past.

Besides, another girl in his life would make it a complex algebraic equation that he wouldn't bother solving, so what's the point.

* * *

He hears a voice in the hallway directly across from the music wing, and it stops him literally in his tracks, increasing his heart rate and speeding his breathing pace as well. He grabs his closest companion, astonishment drawing itself over his features with ease.

"Dude, do you hear that?" He asks in a hushed tone, as if it's some secret that he isn't keen on sharing.

"Um, hear what, exactly?" Dez responds and for a second, he is worried that he's going crazy, listening to the sound of harmony bursting out of a piano with the perfect melody in a voice that gifts skin with goose bumps.

"That—that voice," he answers stagnantly, eyes wandering to the rest of the hall that has managed to empty itself, the second bell dawning as does the realizations he's late to third period on his first day back.

Dez perks out in ear dramatically, and a smirk creeps its way onto his face, until its comfortably resting as he speaks, "she sure does sound hot, am I right?"

Austin deeply cringes and his nose turns to a side, distraught over how his best friend had completely demeaned all the purpose he had thoroughly meant. "No, man, more like...beautiful."

A snort emits itself from the taller of the twos lips, and a quick later is said when the final bell tolls from the speaker. With an exasperated sigh laced with hints of regret, he traces the sound into the choir room where he stands in the door frame, creepily watching the back of a form he saw no more than an hour ago. This is her in her natural habitat, surrounded by what she loves; music. It's easy to tell that she is a prodigy, with her hands gracefully slipping over the worn keys on the piano, her voice filling every inch of space and being projected so loud that it fazes through the walls of a sound proof room.

It appears as if he's already breaking his vow to himself, but how can he not, this sort of place is his natural habitat, too.

"What is that?" he wonders out loud, her figure jumping at the sudden noise that broke her calm air, and then she already has her hands on her bag as she tries to pass him by through the exit. He quickly realizes his faulty action and let's another sigh loose, making his way to sit down at the piano. He starts to play out the harmony she had going, only in an octave higher; and then it branches into different chord progressions that have suspension notes and resolving tunes to match, a bridge folding out until he is completely sure that he has managed to ruin whatever artwork she had going—why doesn't he accept he can't write.

"If you play it in four-three timing instead of a simple four-four, you'll still be able to create a melody that won't deal with as many contradicting flats to sharps," a falling voice utters, and there she is in the doorway, much like him, snooping away.

"You're the professional, not me," he says with much surrender as his hands rise in defeat, standing from the bench and beginning to retreat back out into the hallway.

"Wait," she says with more force, grabbing an arm of his while clearing her throat. "Don't take it personally. I just didn't want to be with another fan, I guess."

He realizes after the pregnant pause between the two she is referring to her leaving the room abruptly once he had rudely barged in on her alone time, and then his eyebrows form together in confusion. This isn't right, she's some sort of number that can't be typed out into a calculator, a dance move that no one actually knows how to do, a word only one can pronounce: and it just so happens to be on the tip of his tongue, promising to be tripped over with hushed stammers undecipherable to even alien's ears. She's supposed to love the attention, she appears to be the kind of celebrity that willingly runs out into the ramped rowdy crowds that throw themselves against her office window, just to connect and thank them for sending her on a one way ticket to success. Here she is sitting, yet seconds ago she was evading from what she assumed was a fan; not so typical, he'll have to write that down under mysterious.

"I never knew you could play," she says, the words slipping with fluency past one another as she crams her stout sleeves further up her frail arms. Her wrists flick over the keys and rest there for a moment, and he sees her basking in the silence before the chords open into the air, flying with agility and skating with grace and poise. This girl is impossible he decides, laughter pouring right out of her smile while her eyes close as her free face is consumed in abandon; he quickly catches on to the fact that this is her surface, and her inner must be busting with life that's been caged for far too long—she's breaking free and it's a beauty that no one could manage to look away from.

"I never knew you could either," he counters, a light shove to her small body before his own two hands start to dance upon the black and white sea. A slow hand reaches up to her scalp and she unties her hair, shaking out her head as her waves of unruly chestnut tresses fall. It's a true camera moment, the two of them laughing at the sound of careless music being made and her emitting so much artistry: he's sad no one is there to document down this sure to be historic signification.

They come to a rushing stop filled with power and anticipation, the room not falling quiet with her leaning over to him, giggles exploding out of her chest to be absorbed within his shoulder. He pats her on the back, his head falling back with his own chortles and he has to wonder when the last time it was he had this level of easy fun. They make eye contact and it takes no longer for him to decide she is the most exotically beautiful thing he has ever come across, clad in hipster nerd glasses and all.

"So, Ally—" he begins and she can tell from his tone that he's about to ask something from her.

"We aren't friends," she answers while making a bluntly obvious point to scoot in the opposite direction on the bench, a foot resting between them now and barely half a centimeter left of the other side of her.

"But—but, that was so fun, I mean, there is clearly something between us, and—" he stutters out, the rug pulled out from underneath him and he's at a loss for how exactly to recover with, at the very least, an ounce of dignity.

"Yes, it was fun, but this time last year if I was in here playing you would have walked right past the door. I'm used to people being affected by who I am, Austin. The hall literally clears a perfect pathway for me to walk down," her droll stare leaves him feeling guilty, her truth searing his ears to the point where he wants to cover them with his hands.

"I didn't even know who was singing in the hall, though," he quipped, a hesitation evident and she picks up on it for future reference. "I only heard the piano and the voice was slurred, there would have been an actual crowd if anyone could really tell it was you."

She bites down on her lips and looks the other way, caught between his reasoning and her new adjustment to being led through ruses with a gentle hand hold, later to be plunged into exposing icy water that suffocates her and drowns her while they are warm on the shore, wrapped in blankets she made with sweat blood and tears. Trust issues are the worst, that's all she knows and sometimes she wishes she could poses the same naive and innocent spark his spring fresh eyes do.

With a hearty blow of air through her lips, a mindless hand starts to roam over the piano once more and she begins conversation with him again after a solid five minutes plants itself safely in between them. "What do you want, Austin?"

He gives her a half smirk filled with excitement and content, and she concludes it's one of his worst looks; half plotting for his own gain while half hopped up on his own pride. "I want to sing with you."

Her sagging lips begin to form the answer he does not want to hear, so he skips in and continues on before he is officially denied.

"I want to talk about music with you. My music. Your music. I want to listen to you play every other instrument in the world, watch you write another legendary song, be there when you record your next hit or when you produce a hit with a client. I want to see this Ally that no one else sees again."

"So, basically, you want to stalk me while I work?" she sums up with a bemused half hearted twist of her mouth, quirking eye brows and even a ridiculing snort erupting from a combination of her nose and throat.

He gives a shrug and a few chuckles slip past him. "I just want to see what I've been missing out on. You interest me, Ally. I hear your music when I'm not even listening, and that doesn't happen too often with me."

She subconsciously moves closer to him once more, giving him a quick questioning glance over with extremely unsure eyes. "Austin Moon, you are deep. Who in the world would have guessed?"

He begins to throw his head back again, marveling over how she is actually quite funny in her own inimitable way. He wants to be best friends with this girl, him along with half of the earth.

She stands up and holds out her hand, gesturing for him to take it and for some reason he doesn't bother with skepticism, like he normally would. She insecurely pulls down on her shirt and brushes off her jeans, and he wonders if she actually isn't confident with her more than perfect body. In a second, she's tugging harshly on his arm and dragging him out the front door of the school, not so much as a wave over her shoulder to the secretary sitting behind the counter.

"Where are you taking me?" he asks as he shuts her passenger side door, running his hands down over the luxurious leather in her flawless 2012 Chevrolet Cruze.

"Just relax," she coos as the cherry vehicle reeves to life underneath the power of her key, her eyes dart to him before checking her rear view mirror and backing up out of the parking lot, "you wanted to stalk me, remember?"

* * *

"Hey, babe," a soothing sound rains out of his phones speakers, a face worthy of Victoria Secret modeling filling the screen with a breath taking smile that he knows too well.

"Cass, it's so great to see you," he answers back, pretending not to cringe at the laughter Ally is stifling to his right. She grabs a pen and scrawls on the backside of her paper, creative and original, babe.

This has become a regular Friday night in for him, FaceTiming with Cassidy for about an hour while Ally entertains herself with the random objects that manage to diffuse themselves throughout the room over the course of the week. Dez will stop by around dinner and they'll go out in the flashy Camaro Ally received from her proud parents the weekend she got signed into Starr. Ally will crash on his floor in a pile of blankets, Dez heading home with exhaustion present in his face and Austin either on the floor with her or actually in his queen bed that has more than enough room for two, honestly...

He remembers when Cassidy used to adore one Ally Dawson, playing her music loud within her bedroom over the summer and dancing around her bed with no form or sign of profession. He believed she was intoxicating, being so expressive and loose in front of him: sometimes he wishes he could return to those Friday nights. Now, however, she tends to roll her eyes at the mention of the brunettes name—Ally's learned to stay out of the view of the camera or to avoid making even the smallest of peeps while Austin talks to his cherished girlfriend. It was proven to be a problem having Ally answer his phone while he was in the shower one Saturday morning, claiming to be 'Austin's personal assistant that would have to take a message while he worked on becoming less naked and smelly'. In reality, he thought her sense of humor was addictive and the joke itself was quite funny, being as that he laughed, but in Cassidy's eyes Ally was a threat that she would never be able to control, seeing as that she was 233.9 miles away in Orlando. He calmed down her livid state with soft words of reassurance, saying Ally was a new colleague of his in both school and her work.

"I know, I didn't think it was possible to miss you this much," she answers with sincerity, her pouty lips pursed and sapphire eyes filled with absence. Her hair was pin straight, tucked neatly behind her pierced ears and lacking the imperfections he loves that Ally wears everyday—they are day and night, the two most important girls in his life. "You are coming down for thanksgiving and Christmas, right?"

"Uh, yes for thanksgiving," he takes a brief pause to look over at the songwriter positioned on his bed, her honey eyes wide with the delivered news as she brings a finger to her lips, signaling to be quiet and secretive, "but I think the only way I'd see you over Christmas break is if you came here, or I came for New Years."

"I can't come up there, I don't have any relatives," she huffs as if she as a broken record, repetitive and ignored, "you know that. But I'm not against you coming for New Years. I need someone to kiss, after all," she adds in with a waggle of her perfectly tweezed eye brows and an air kiss with her overly glossed lips.

His smile becomes wide and genuine, his senses live as memories of lips moving on his flooding, her scent swarming around him and suddenly he feels like he is in the clouds, flying. "I'll be there, then," he says happily and tries his hardest not to look up to Ally.

Cassidy keeps wandering on with her small talk of new shoes and shampoo, compliments on his Snapback that adorns his head and he stops himself right before he says Ally picked it out. Dez arrives early and sneaks Ally out to the downstairs, and as much as he wants to hang up he can't because he doesn't want to stop talking to her, either.

"Austin?" she asks after a few minutes of silence crept between them.

"Yeah, Cass?" he asks in response, taking his attention off of the song Ally had left half written on his desk, directly in front of him.

"Do you think that Ally would write my band a song to submit to Starr?" she questions, not making eye contact and even the air around him is glassy and filled with tension as the words tumble out of her mouth, drooling down her chin and swooping up into his regretful ears.

"What, for you to like, take credit for?" he responds with, edge clear in his voice but also with a certain amount of tentativeness.

"Yeah, I mean, I don't think Jimmy would want to sign a band that used his biggest name to write their song. He usually goes for the independent types, you know?" her tone has her intention evident and her distaste for his new best friend is still plainly obvious. Her eyes scream guilt, however, and her mouth is twitching in ways that show him she's sweet and has the kind of innocent spark that he's becoming accustomed to enjoy.

"Uh, I guess I could talk to her about it," spill from his lips before he can bother controlling his thought process for the entire situation. Cassidy is there, with those wide blue eyes that were the ocean he made a habit of swimming in—he missed it, he missed the love they knew they had from the ways their hands intertwined, from the gazes and the nudges and the waves and the fights. This was theirs, and he can't give it up quite yet.

Her hands clap together and she looks cute, adorable in fact, but then she's leaving and he has to say goodbye once more. It's unhealthy that he has to be afraid for the next hello.

"Knock knock, can Ally come in?" She asks as she enters and while he swivels around in his chair, his sloping grin broadens with remorseful eyes to match—and Ally can't be his. She can be the worlds, belong to the waters, the suns, the heavens even; but she'll never be his and realizing this fills his stomach with unapologetic twists and lurches that are unpleasant to say at the least. She's oblivious and carefree but somehow cautious, and he's selfish enough to take advantage of her because he knows, just like with Cassidy, he can't let her go, not now.

He fears that she can see his thoughts spelled plainly out on a billboard, his eyes telling her lies that she knows enough to see through—but she plops down on the bed and clamps a hand around his wrist, excitement running on her goose bumped skin.

"It's adventure time, suit up," is all she quips before a skip out of the room and a ruffle to his skidded hair. He stares after her and has an incalculable desire to follow, and that's exactly what he does.

* * *

He is more than majorly displeased once she directly confirms the rumors that spiraled within the halls for an entire week: Ethan is accompanying her to the Starr Records release party of her new clientele's debut album. It's a tremendous deal that she has been squealing to him for about a good, solid month now and it's a bit astounding that he isn't attending as her platonic plus one.

Still, she tells him with a vast smile and mahogany orbs that stare right through him with flickers of pride, and he reads in between the lines she writes that this is her proving something or another to him. A wink is sent his way when the after party is mentioned and mental images of Ethan Dwight, hands tabled with limbs while lips attempt to gain dominance start assembling along in his mind.

"This isn't acceptable," is all he says before popping open the door on the passenger and walking the rest of the way home.

She calls him while he walks and just laughs loudly into the speaker, he hears her smile and it takes all of him not to join with her—it's kind of the thing they do together, laugh. It's like a kind of music that sounds good no matter which way you hear and listen to it. Then she catches her breath and gives him a long exhale, gives him an address that she will apparently be at from 2:20 to 4:30 and a kiss through the phone.

He paces for a good fifteen minutes in front of his car before he gets in it and drives. His intentions are for the newly found address but for some odd reason the steering wheel takes a wrong turn and suddenly he's on the familiarly worn out way to Orlando. He can hear the lectures he'll receive from his parents but doesn't even take a sympathy look back. He breaths in and out the feeling of leaving, and it's hard picturing that in less than forty two hours he'll be driving back on this path of abandon.

* * *

The very first place he finds himself when he returns to the luxuriously sparkling city lights is Ally's house. His phone is exploding with different messages, it's annoying and even if he turns it off, the people hiding behind the screens are still there being inevitable. The window is widely ajar, candles creating light that is radiating. She's in the center of her room, plopped down onto the floor on his favorite pillow of hers, vast and plush and something you can get lost in.

He perches himself on the sill and it is a known fact that he is there, but she makes no move to turn and greet him so he makes no move whatsoever to be anything more than subtle. The room is dim, squinting is required to make out anything more than shapes and the music playing behind their ears is a threatening balled of emotions. Her hands fluently move over papers he can't see through the dark, rearranging and placing all across her pristine room. Her bed is littered, her floor is consumed, even her walls have been painted and he feels as if he steps in the movie will cease and reality will begin.

"Close your eyes," she says is a silent whisper, breathy as is comes out hoarse and skips about into the air. He follows suit while an impossibly elated and mischievous smirk draws itself onto his lips: he missed her and what she brings into his life. His ears absorb the sounds of shuffles, but she moves on graceful dancer's feet and it's hard to envision where she is moving to and fro.

"Can I open them yet?" He answers a good two minutes into her tinkling throughout her space, her scent being the only trail that she leaves behind as it wisps itself into his nose. He smiles at her giggle and he knows he's back.

"Hang on." There is obvious space between them, but she sounds positively foreign, despite the fact that she's on the other side of the room; the world, more like it. Her tone is stoic and hesitant, he can hear the miles forming within it and he knows he's become fake to her. He chose someone else over her—it's irrelevant that it was only for a weekend, it still happened—for petty reasoning, bitter impulses, and she'll forgive but only pretend to forget.

"Now," she whispers out with her lips on his ear and it's painstakingly clear that he emits a few shivers. He can't help it, her scent is overpowering and her impossibly minty breath is taking gigantic leaps across his neck and back. She is more than even an angel, the whole entire heaven perhaps.

His eyelids flutter open and she slides her looped arms over his broad shoulders, slipping into the crook of his neck and onto his lap. The pictures are still messily strewn, telling the stories that she almost tries to forget. Christmas lights are now hanging, dangling and making stars in the open night sky that's trapped in her room. Half of her furniture has been pushed to the side, candles suspended by strings as they rest in mason jars. She's a wonder, and he knows this is how she spends every night: under never land and dancing with the fireflies.

He stands up to admire her work, but then gets caught amongst the infinite professional photographs. This is her first lunch at the studio. This is her with a tutu on during dance rehearsal. This is her laughing with Jimmy Starr and a client. This is her working at her father's music store. This is her first piano lesson. This is her first day of high school. This is her and Trish De la Rosa at the beach. This is her walking on the Los Angeles red carpet with a guy on her arm. This is her hand being held by someone that isn't him. This is her being kissed by someone that isn't him. This is her living.

This is her loving.

And that is her smiling with an ice cream in her hand, him at her side looking as if he wants to kiss her. Her eyes show happiness and his look playful, but this was taken a million years ago during first encounters and when the acquaintanceship was barely on the brink. He turns around to see that she has her feet sloping out of the window, with arms crossed tightly over her chest and he knows it's not his place to be here now. It might have been once, but the moment has past and the picture of Ethan holding her waist with ensured protection tells him that she isn't exactly free for the taking.

* * *

"These times are mad," she enters with, a pencil skirt and piled hair, a disheveled smile and glistening orbs that tell him that he doesn't want to hear what she has to say. She tucks a lock of his behind his ear and just leans upon him, but his arms refuse to lock around her in the ways they used to and it's as if she brought back all of their memories with her presence.

His head flashes with aches that no medicine can heal, his eyes whispering lies to her without his tongue making a single syllable. She runs cold hands along his arms, tampering with his internals. He worries about how much time she has left before she is needed to jet off into some far, unknown land: she's been in Miami for far too long when she's meant to be somewhere vast and endless.

He's fallen out of contact with Cassidy due to the fact that he's forgotten how to love her. He'll remember eventually and maybe he will regret this period of separation, but for now he likes the uncomfortable silences and drowning looks of starry eyes that form into constellations that tell one too many tales.

She never makes Ethan an official, but they kiss and she cries and he laughs and she sings, so there is some twisted meaning to it all. Austin calls her every night and they talk about the unusual's, the weather and the homework and the teachers and the students. He texts but she never texts back, it's a choked environment and her leather bound book becomes fatter with new songs that he never even asks to see each and every day. They rarely see one another outside of school, and he fears that an inevitable end is coming, but he still likes to put up a fight.

She is here now, however, peering underneath thickly rimmed eyelashes and on his lap with folded hands. He throws on some music that you don't want to dance or act to, but listen and wait and understand. This is her favorite kind of music, he knows this and always will.

He begins to serenade the words softly into her delicate ears, they sway together to the beat and eventually he pushes the hair off of her neck and pecks out kisses in his own brand of Morse code.

He leant slowly in to kiss her, and once they were tied by the lips, every love story played again. It was slow and tender and cautious, awkward and bumpy with subtle undertones of slime, fast and quick wrapped with exhilaration and sealed with cascades of light, both blinding and blindingly dim. The once upon a time was heard within the back ground, the Romeo's gawking and the Juliet's swooning, it's all it ever is, it's all it's ever been. This was a kiss, and they had both felt it before, but not in the way that they feel the past holding hands with the present with an addictive repetition swirled in as well.

* * *

He's gone and graduated, she's gone to sign for a movie and is half way around the world on some sort of mission trip before she is whisked into two straight years of filming, producing, publishing, writing, recording, everything. A tour has been announced for the horizon and sometimes she has the time to answer his calls. Its summertime and life is winding down for him, the University of Pomona waiting patiently for his arrival out in California.

He wakes up late in mid July, walks downstairs and sees her in his tee shirt, making pancakes like the old Saturdays and dancing on her tip toes. She's just as beautiful and exotic as when he first really met her, only now she's beautiful and exotic in his arms as her legs tangle around his waist and she kisses him. They miss each other, it's a known fact, but she smiles and he becomes winded and it's a nice feeling that he reminds himself to get used to.

They drive out to Cali together about two weeks later and get a place for themselves, ceilings to windows coated with chalkboard paint, white and black with every wall and they write all over it every day. It's a kind of destructive beauty, fights breaking out upon it and lyrics that won't ever be sung, but when the other is gone re-reading lost notes and tracing over letters is common. She cooks, she cleans, he eats, he messes, it's how they work and it's how they love it. She's out living more than half the time and he's in studying the other portion, it's quite abnormal and unexpected, but they switch roles occasionally and are both enjoying how they are breaking in a new year.

He makes a debut appearance on her new album, the song titled 'We Could Be Us' and involving mentions of dancing and partying in the ways that they do together. It's her favorite song, and his as well: they listen to it before during and after the disagreements that become habits, they listen to it between kisses and if they listen close enough, they hear the rest of their story being told within its twisting rhymes.

**_xxx_**

* * *

**A/N: **and voila, there it is! I hope you all enjoyed it even though it ends kind of abruptly, but I thought it went at a nice pace and dragging it out would only result in an over load of cheesy mush. I barely edited which is why there are probably errors left and right, and who knows, I might be lazy and never get back to fix them. I love you all and a humongous sized thank you goes out to all :)

Don't be afraid to leave a review for me :)

xoxo


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